


love isn’t always magic (sometimes it’s just melting)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e06 Iron Sisters, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Missing Scene, POV Raphael Santiago, Saphael, also known as The breakup part II: can't live with or without you, can you believe they're actually using their words, raphael saves his fangy damsel in distress (again), simon's mouth can form the words I'm Sorry after all, we deserve to have good things so here you go, what sorcery is this, when ya rescue an ex and have a feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9614690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: He can hear Simon's breath hitching (breathing, you must or the mundanes will notice) the closer he gets, can smell the hot blood in his veins and thinks:Don't leave me in this heaven alone. Don't go.A hand cups his cheek, lips against his ear. "I was an idiot, I'm sorry."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lover, I smashed my glass slipper to build a stained glass window for every wall inside my chest  
> Now my heart is a pressed flower and a tattered Bible  
> It is the one verse you can trust
> 
> So I’m putting all of my words in your collection plate  
> I am setting the table with bread and grace  
> My knees are bent  
> like the corner of a page  
> I am saving your place
> 
> \--Andrea Gibson  
> "Maybe I Need You"

* * *

 

 

Simon is everywhere even when he's not.

 

Four slate gray walls and dark windows hold fragments of sacred memory inside. They haunt Raphael at sunrise when daylight finds him fighting his own demons instead of sleeping, at three in the afternoon when the fading imprint of Simon's head on the pillow is not enough. At night as he closes the door behind him, they whisper  _\- You will never die. You will burn forever in a hell of your own making._

* * *

 

Two weeks into the misery he orders the others to leave him and purposely avoids their gaze. They're empty to him, vessels with names and stories, family but _not_. Not _him._ His people, _their_ familia, can see how easily the light shines through him, burns him from the inside out. It had a name once, a voice. 

 

The key slides into Simon's door with a small click and he stands at the threshold holding his battered heart in hand like this room might actually put him back together. It takes four minutes to close it behind him and allow the grief to swallow him whole. The fledgling remains in fractured molecules and atoms, the dust on an abandoned guitar. The discarded blanket on bloodstained carpet (his clumsiness), Post It notes stuck to the wall (meetings, reminders, Raphael's own name on most with a tiny smiley face), Simon's shoes under the bed. A thin wardrobe of graphic t-shirts, Raphael's own shirts and jackets, dark washed jeans - they are still waiting. 

_Like me._

"Simon," he tests.

Louder still. "SIMON."

The emptiness is an answer he never thought he'd hear. The lack. 

When catastrophe hits, it's the aftermath that kills you. They do not tell you this when you fall in love, do not warn you away from beautiful boys with sweet venom in their veins. If they had, he would've pushed Simon Lewis into a sun that he could not feel anyway. He would've counted each frantic heartbeat as the dagger pressed against a living breathing pulse anyway. God knows he would've loved him harder even when it hurt. 

Still, he was a fool for letting the boy break him and touch him in ways that cannot be unfelt. It's as if Simon's fingerprints are his own, the palm of his hand belongs to someone who no longer wants it.

"Come home," he whispers, voice cracking at the end. 

He falls asleep curled up on the floor and wakes at nine in the morning, clutching a tattered Captain America comic. Lily passes him as he locks the door behind him, head bowed. 

_We are grieving as one. Simon betrayed us._

He no longer smiles. The fledgling is not his, not theirs.

They pass without speaking.

* * *

 

 Weeks trudge by without a peep. He knows this as he checks his phone more than he should; finger hovering over the image of a dodged bullet with big brown eyes. He is a dead man walking in more ways than one and Simon Lewis - he is not the weapon. 

He's just a boy and Raphael is the ghost of a soul in love with the damned. Eternity is an endless stretch of bone deep loneliness for him only. 

It's not his fault. 

* * *

 

 

"Rest," Lily insists. Her voice is stern, determined to save him but you cannot rescue a man who knows he's drowning and does not fight it.

Love.

He is an idiot in love.

"We have to find Camille," he growls, bitterness seeping into his tone. 

She wraps a manicured hand around his arm, forcing him to stop mid stride. Sleep, feed, mourn. She is trying to hold him afloat as the current drags him down. 

"Tell him." 

"He betrayed us," he reminds her. 

Three words, twelve letters that bind him. 

"And you placed a kill order on his head, Rafe. He was protecting his family as you protect us."

She's right and he hates it like he hates the color brown and black leather, the taste of liquid caramel on his tongue. 

"Enough," he snaps.

She flinches as he sweeps past, determined to trail after his fledgling in hopes that Camille has not found him yet. 

From that point on, he returns long enough to rest, check in on his clan and feed. He offers no explanation as to where he's going.

He doesn't need to. The clan can feel the knot of tension in their shared bond, the surge of warmth and fear. He is running from himself and taking it out on Simon Lewis, hell bent on self destruction. 

* * *

 

It's a Tuesday afternoon when the phone rings, startling him from a much needed sleep.

 

He'd allowed Lily to bully him into submission earlier and hardly put up a fight. She'd brushed the hair from his face and murmured in a soothing tone,  _You don't have to go through this alone_ _mi estornino. Rest and we will talk when you wake._ He'd noticed the fatigue in her eyes, the worry he'd glazed over somehow. 

" _Si_ ," he'd answered, "For you."   

 

It's been eight days since he took Simon's hand in his own and bit back his own fangs as blood dripped from his open palm. Since then, Camille has been captured and the clan is safe. He has not left Hotel DuMort in ten days. 

That is to say, he has not touched greatness nor betrayal. Yet those rich brown eyes and broken promises continue to find him no matter how far he goes.

"I-I don't know how long I can control myself," Simon panted in lieu of a greeting. 

Raphael shot straight up out of bed, sheets twisting around his ankle. "Tell me where you are."

"Home, I'm-my mom's house. I need blood."

Raphael grit his teeth, tossing a pillow he continued to sleep with to the floor. Simon is selfish, he only calls when he's in dire need and doesn't care what effect it has upon the clan leader. He thinks he can snap his fingers and Raphael will magically appear like a hemoglobin delivery man. If he gives in, the cycle will continue until the fledgling bleeds him dry.

"Give me until sunset," he states, making no promises of nourishment.

He can hear Simon sighing with relief and if he were to try, he could picture it as it happened. He's weak, exhausted and fragile in a way that Simon will never understand. He thinks of Clary with a history he cannot compete with and squeezes his eyes tight against the pain. 

_She doesn't love you like I love you._

"I'll-I'll be here," Simon replies. 

They do not say goodbye, it's better this way. 

* * *

 

 Elaine Lewis meets him at the front door, panicked. When she hugs him, a feeling rushes back that he thought he'd forgotten. All at once his heart recalls what it felt like to have a mother. In another life his own mamá would've fretted over her wayward son but she is buried under a thick elm tree now, alongside each of his brothers. They're far from home now in a place where the damned are not welcomed. Simon doesn't know how lucky he is. He closes his eyes, loosely embracing her and listens to quickened beating of her heart. 

_Blessed madré. The breath of life._

She moves back an inch or so, gripping his shoulders. "There's something wrong with Simon and he won't let me in. He-he asked for you, please can you help him? I know you care for him and I feel sick. I-there was a rat. A _rat_ and blood. He's not well, Raphael."

She pauses, patting his cheek. In return, he gives her a charming smile and savors the touch. _Dios_ , he envies the living something fierce. They hold warmth in their bones and take it for granted, they do not know what it feels like to forget basic affection, to lose it. 

"I'm-I'm okay. I'm okay. You're here." 

"I'll do what I can," he assures her.

* * *

 

He closes the door behind him, face to face with Simon or more so what is left of him. His skin is a sickly shade of white, cheeks gaunt and pajama clad. 

 _His_ Simon had been full of life with a mouth that never stopped running, a nervous energy that even dying couldn't take from him, curious eyes the color of crisp leaves in the Fall. Standing before him is a shadow of that person and guilt gnaws at him. If he hadn't pushed Simon to train so hard, if he'd bent on the rules, if he'd never tasted, touched-

No.

Feelings are a weakness that he cannot afford right now.

 

He brushes past the youngling, nudging his elbow as he goes. "You've been home for what, a day? And already you let a mundane see you feed?"

_Come home. **Our** home. I'll keep you safe._

Casually, he adjusted his jacket, freeing a few buttons as the other vampire turned to face him. The sun and earth rotating, a gravitational pull, Simon cannot stray very far. 

"It's not like I invited her in," he retorted. 

Raphael leaned against the desk, allowing himself to open for the first time in forever. His hands do not clench into fists at his side, his jaw does not tense and he is careful in is movements. Cornering the fledgling will take them nowhere but down. They are hard like that - two magnets trying to escape and failing, the result ending in a battle of wills. But, just for tonight he'll let himself be tender, warm. 

Simon's stance is defensive, arms across his chest. He has every reason to expect an attack, to be pressed against his own door frame and hissed at. This is what Lily meant when she said  _You don't have to go through this alone._

Neither should Simon. They created this monstrosity together, they will destroy it just the same. _It starts with me_ , he thinks. 

The younger vampire threw an arm out dramatically, continuing. "Besides, I wouldn't be in this predicament if you'd brought me the O negative I asked for."

That's not fair. He has given Simon  _everything_ and asked for nothing in return. On a good night he'd kiss Simon awake and that was more than enough. Stupidly he'd assumed the other felt the same. On the bad nights, Simon would hole up in his room strumming the guitar without so much as a shoulder squeeze. He is done with giving, it's his turn to take. Heaven knows he deserves it. 

He is not at fault, Simon cannot go on blaming him forever.  

"Do I look like a delivery man to you?" 

Truth be told, he'd had a staredown with the chilled trays of O negative until Lily finally had enough and snatched the satchel from his hand. She'd proceeded to stalk off with it and yell,  _This is not love, Rafe. You cannot give into his every whim, he'll never learn. If he wants it, he can come get it himself._ She wasn't wrong but he'd pocketed a bag anyway. 

 

Simon begins to pace, irate. "What am I supposed to do now? Y'want me to go after my mom? 'Cause you can kiss that dinner invite goodbye if I lose my cool." 

That was never going to happen in the first place. They'd played their parts, knowing they were hollowed words. It's done and over with. 

"What a shame. I was looking forward to that potroast," he counters, calm and collected though he's anything but. He wants that slice of happiness with the family dinners, petty spats and embarrassing stories about Simon's childhood. If he could be the person Elaine Lewis thinks he is, maybe he wouldn't wake up groping a cold pillow, adamantly running from an empty bed. 

The imprint of him, the middle of their story rather than the end.

_Let's start over._

 

Simon glares, dark rings under his eyes reveal more than his words. He hasn't been sleeping either and no one has bothered with keeping him fed. They are falling apart together when all he ever wanted was a fidgety mundane with rounded glasses, a smug vampire with a smile that could power the world. 

"Why'd you even bother coming here? To taunt me? Threaten me a little more?" Simon stalks forward, finger in the clan leader's face with a sardonic grin. It's ugly and gnarled, he should never have to make that face. "I've got news for you, amigo, I've already beat you to the punch!" 

This is not going as he thought it would. Simon is stubborn and itching for a fight that will never be shouted into existence. 

"I could've sworn _you_ called _me_. Mm, funny how that works." 

 Simon laughs, dry and miserable. Simon is everywhere even when he is not. He is love held to the fire. 

"Kind of figured you'd let me starve. Guess I got that part right." 

Raphael cocked his head to the side, hurt that Simon could ever think so terribly of him. "You guessed wrong, niño."

 _Jesucristo_ , the boy can be amazingly dense at times. 

Raphael can be amazingly saccharine at times. 

 

He retrieved a single hospital grade bag from the breast pocket of his suit and tossed it to the younger vampire as he had many times before, counting backwards to a foggy cemetery on the best and worst night. 

Simon devours the crimson liquid, licking his lips when he finished.  Raphael's eyes made a beeline in that direction- his lips remember the taste of goodness, his mouth waters at the thought of  _caramel._

It's all he can do to choke out a single word. "Better?"

Simon's eyes dart to parted lips and back up again. "Almost."

He can take a hint, read between the lines. He closes in on Simon. When his hand meets the thin fabric of a crew neck, he knows he cannot live without this. What is eternal life if it is spent standing in the shadow of love? 

"There will be consequences." 

Simon blinks, temporarily caught off guard by the proximity. He nods, understanding that everything comes with a price. Everything but this. Love is not a debt to be settled nor a consequence, they are biding their time. 

 

They have yet to break eye contact and this time, Raphael does not move. When Simon's eyes trail over his body, he closes his own and imagines each lingering gaze is a feather soft kiss. It truly is a hell of his own making but he'd be more than willing to put his what's left of his life on the line to feel alive like this always. He can hear Simon's breath hitching (breathing, you must or the mundanes will notice) the closer he gets, can smell the hot blood in his veins and thinks:

_Don't leave me in this heaven alone. Don't go._

A hand cups his cheek, lips against his ear. "I was an idiot, I'm sorry." 

If he were to turn his head, they would kiss. He would no longer know the feeling of a gut wrenching yearning for  _home,_ not when it's stood in front of him. But love is a precarious fickle thing and losing Simon again would be devastating. He needs but does not dare to take. 

"I have forgiven you many times and missed you twice as much," he murmurs. He'd grown hard and bitter in the wake of Simon's betrayal but, swear it on the grave of his beloved abuela, he'd swept it under the rug some four days later. However, pride kept him from hunting down his _amor_ and pleading with him to come home, the clan kept him from being illogical. 

Trembling fingers traced a path over his forehead, the tip of his nose, curve of his jaw - everything gradually locking into place. How many afternoons had they spent memorizing one another's body, painting blood stained kisses on bare skin just like this? It feels like yesterday and a decade from the starting point. 

Simon holds his chin in one hand, a calloused thumb applying the lightest pressure to Raphael's bottom lip until they part. The next time he apologizes, Raphael tastes it against the tip of his tongue. His arms come up to drape over Simon's neck, fingers in his hair. 

"I'm sorry" - a kiss to the palm of Raphael's hand

"I'm so sorry" - one more to the sensitive underside of an ear

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please" - an open mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, teeth nipping and sucking at the skin  

 

He'd thought nothing could hurt as much as betrayal but this surpasses the entirety of it. Simon, weak and apologetic, voice hoarse and broken - this is what heartbreak feels like on the inside.  He plants forgiveness on exposed skin, murmuring words of comfort in Spanish. 

 

A knock at the door breaks the moment as reality comes into focus. "Boys?"

"Simon." He whispers, curling a finger under his chin to lift it. He cannot resist dipping in for one more kiss, closed mouth and holding before they break apart. 

There is the issue of Elaine to deal with; she had not taken to Simon's confession kindly. 

"Your mother cannot be allowed to remember what happened. It will not end well."

He strokes a cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, soothing away the worry that has taken root there. 

Simon blinks, warm brown eyes filling up with concern. "Will it hurt her?" 

If there were any chance of hurting Elaine, he wouldn't have even suggested it. Mothers are sacred and he would rather fall to his knees in the light of day than ever disrespect or bring them harm.

"She will feel no pain." 

 +

15 minutes later, Elaine is brewing a pot of coffee and beaming because her son finally brought his boyfriend over for dinner.  

* * *

 

Simon moves back to Hotel DuMort two weeks to the day, having worked to earn the trust of the older more stubborn clan members.

 

When Raphael wakes there is no indent in the pillow but rather, bare skin. Instead of an empty room he gets a mess of brunette hair tickling his nose as Simon unconsciously moves closer in his sleep. 

 

_Simon is everywhere._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the bedroom scene was AMAZING and it honestly made my heart jump when raphael leaned in close before he walked away. I (and simon with his closed eyes) thought he was going to finally make a move. imagine my disappointment when not only did that not happen but raphael was M.I.A. for the rest of the episode. 
> 
> (this fic was heavily inspired by that scene and the song played during the promo because THOSE LYRICS)
> 
> "I just wanna keep calling your name until you come back home." thanks for the pain @shadowhunters it makes for good fic material :')


End file.
